


Fixer Upper

by TrashFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashFoot/pseuds/TrashFoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this post by canis–familiaris: "Bucky manages to avoid being found until one night, with no warning, he shows up in Tony's kitchen. Tony is understandably kind of alarmed when he finds an assassin sitting at his table, but Bucky just kind of holds his arm out toward Tony and very quietly tells him, "I don't know how to fix it myself.""</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [N/A](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/167734) by canis-familiaris. 



Tony's always been this way. Staying up until odd hours in the night, sometimes not sleeping at all for another day or so, always working on something. Something to keep his mind and hands occupied during these restless bouts, before he is finally so sleep deprived that he sleeps away an entire day. He's done that many times in his life; stayed awake for 60 hours or so, slept like a log for 12. He's had a couple of delusions throughout the years he's been doing this– a few more than he'd like to admit. Seeing his dead mother and father– more often his father– and having realistic discussions (or arguments) with them, only to have Pepper or somebody (anybody) who works at Stark Tower pull him out of it and try their best to calm him down. Not every delusion he's had involved his parents. One time, he hung out with a trench-coat-wearing Alf. Another time, he was helping The Goonies on a new adventure. 

The thought of seeing a therapist has made its way into his mind many times before, mainly because the person who had rescued him suggested it. He's never really been the type to want to explain his feelings to somebody who'd end up writing down, not tell him anything useful, and then tell him to hand over some money after an hour. He doesn't want somebody to understand, just to listen. Listen to his side of things, his story, his life, his problems. No judgments, no writing, no B.S. Just listening.

Walking into the 5th floor kitchen at 2:37 in the morning (Tony's been meaning to fix that oven clock. It's been five minutes fast since forever), he switched on the light. In the little nook that sat in the corner, something silver, something metallic glinted at him. It took Tony a minute to take in what the metal object was, and who (more like what) it was attached to. All Tony wanted was some coffee, but instead, he's now got the master assassin that Nat, Sam, and (especially) Steve won't shut the hell up about sitting on the nook's bench in his kitchen. Tony looked at him, surprised of course by his presence and having so many questions for him (like how the hell did you get in here?). The man only started back at him silently, his face scrunched up, his eyes still needed to get used to the light. 

He was in civilian clothes– a dull blue short–sleeved t–shirt, a baseball hat that his now short, brown hair (that was kind of a strange sight for Tony– he only knows him as a man with scraggly, shoulder–length hair), and pants that were hidden beneath the table. A black hoodie sat in a crumpled pile on his left. His right arm was by his side, his left arm sitting uselessly on the table. Something happened to it, obviously. Tony didn't know what happened exactly, but he could only assume the damage was done because of a fight he was in. After a minute or so of staring at him in shocked silence, Tony finally started trying to think of what to do. The man’s face now held an almost fully blank expression, his eyes now being used to the light. There was something in his face though, something beyond the blankness. Curiosity? Shame, maybe? It was hard for Tony to place it. The arm suddenly lifted off the table a few inches, and was moved a bit more in Tony's direction.

"I don't know how to fix it myself." The man's voice was small and quiet.

"So?"

"So, I was hoping you could... help." He said as calmly as he could. The last word he said almost sounded new, like he had never said it before.

"Help you?"

"Please." His face was different now. He looked more desperate than anything. Sad even. Like he was asking the enemy to help– well, it's not like he wasn't doing that, but things seemed somehow different with him. Like he was a dog, a once beloved family pet who was now roaming the streets for whatever reason, attempting to survive on his own, make his own decisions. That's part of the reason why Tony sighed, rubbed an eye, and tiredly agreed.

"Sure, sure. Fine. Let me just go grab some tools. I don't want you moving a muscle until I get back, you hear me?" He nodded like the soldier he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just the first chapter continued. The first chapter could even stand alone, or you could enjoy this second chapter along with it; it's up to you.

Tony comes back into the kitchen, his arms filled with tools, and set them down as quietly as he could on the table, so no attention would be drawn to them. He placed himself in one of the two chairs across the table from his project, making sure he had good enough elbow room to work with.

"How'd you do this?" Tony asked him, looking only at the man's arm.

"Fights." He said plainly.

"Looks like you fought real hard."

"I had to. They were HYDRA." This caught Tony's attention. He looked up at him now, as if to see him smirking like he was telling a joke. He wasn't. He was looking at something beyond Tony, the microwave or the door perhaps, staring like an old war hero would.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"If you say so." Tony said, getting back to work. He was surprised by the fact that he would outright tell him that. He thought that he would've lied to him, or at least tell him that it's none of his damn business and to get back to work. After a minute of work, Tony brought up something that he deemed important enough to tell him.

"You know, Steve's going crazy trying to find you, make sure you're okay."

"Steve...?" He sounded confused by the word, and took a moment to think mull it over. "Steve." He said his name again, this time sounding like it brought him comfort, like it was an old, fuzzy blanket or a beat–up teddy bear he had growing up. "Steve is... Captain America. Right?" Tony felt some familiarity in this situation. Maybe because he saw one too many movies where a human takes in a stranded alien and teaches them stuff about Earth and how to be good.

"Yeah," Tony assured him, poking into one of the holes in the damaged metal. "Steve is Captain America. Does this hurt you, by any chance? Any of this poking around in here?"

"No. They didn't hook it up to me like that. I can move it, but I have no feeling in it." Tony looked up at him again with surprise, stopping the work he was doing, and this time he looked back at him, with a look of confusion changing his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked monotonously.

"I'm just, surprised, that's all. A little confused too, but mostly surprised."

"Is it the arm? I have blueprints--"

"No, no, it's not the arm, it's–" Tony stopped himself, and tried to put things as delicately as he could, "why are you telling me these things?"

"HYDRA is gone. My masters are gone. With no one to control me, I've been changing. Trying to remember. Learning. But everything is so... Different. It's hard. The mission– Steve– that's the only constant I have in my life now. And I need to complete my mission."

"Listen, buddy," Tony was trying his best not to sound too angry, knowing what hell this guy's been through, but it was tough not to. "You're not a robot. You're not a weapon. You're a human being– a person. You get that?" Tony could tell by the look on his face that he didn't. Not fully, at least. Tony sighed. "What's your name? Do you have one?"

"Steve called me something... Something with a 'B'... Buh... Buh... Something close to that word you said before– buddy..." He was trying hard to remember. Tony tried to remember with him.

"Buddy... Buddy... Bucky." Tony remembered. "That's the name."

"Bucky." He said it once for himself. "That's what he called me that day. Bucky."

"Well, now that we've got that cleared up, do you understand?"

"Do I understand what?"

"That you're a person."

"I–I don't know... I think? But, my job is still to kill–"

"That's not your job anymore, Bucky. You said it yourself, your masters are dead. Your bosses are gone, you're only job now is to learn how to be human." There was a beat of silence as realization washed over Bucky's face.

"But, how...?"

"I think I know some people who can help. They're all learning things too. Here," Tony started grabbing up all of his tools, "follow me down to my lab. I'll tell you more about them there." Bucky's face appeared confused again, but he did so anyways, grabbing his hoodie in his good hand as he got up. "By the way, you said you had blueprints?" Bucky nodded and gave him a small sound that told him yes. Tony flicked off the lights as they left.


End file.
